


Make Me See Stars

by PoorWendy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorWendy/pseuds/PoorWendy
Summary: Peter’s braced against the Eclector Quadrant’s vast front window. They’ve been stealing away far too often, with too-feeble excuses. Peter’s always wondering when the other shoe will drop, when the other Guardians will get wise to what they’re really up to.





	Make Me See Stars

**Author's Note:**

> For ThorQuill Week - Day 3: Space
> 
> You know the deal. In some moderately happier universe where the Guardians encounter the Revengers somewhere in space and without stinky Thanos getting in everybody's way.

Peter’s almost distracted by the view. After nearly a lifetime in space, he sometimes forgets to be impressed by it, sometimes forgets that for eight long years he only knew it from the ground, only saw a fraction of sky from so many miles below it.

Every now and then, though, it hits him, it _re_ -occurs to him just how remarkable it is to live like this, staring out through the glass into the galaxy.

And between Thor’s thrusts, he finds a few of those scarce moments. And it’s almost, _almost_ remarkable enough to be distracting. Thor doesn’t seem to have the patience for that. Not while he’s drilling into him.

“Awfully quiet,” Thor grunts out behind him, hand tightening on Peter’s shoulder. “Bored? Something better on your mind?”

Peter’s braced against the Eclector Quadrant’s vast front window. They’ve been stealing away far too often, with too-feeble excuses. Peter’s always wondering when the other shoe will drop, when the other Guardians will get wise to what they’re really up to. The Revengers—he’s pretty sure, at least—seem to know already. They offer knowing glances here and there, Loki and Valkyrie specifically. That’s all they’ve let on. So far.

“Usually a lot louder by now,” Thor goes on behind him, and Peter just has time to realize he didn’t answer before Thor redoubles his efforts.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peter hisses, sweat beading on his forehead.

Thor hums approvingly. “That’s better,” he says, puts his other arm under Peter’s waist and leans over a bit, pulling Peter against his hips for every forward thrust.

It’s hot. It’s supremely hot. Usually Peter’s clothes would be long-discarded by now, but this time they got to it quickly. Thor was already getting handsy back on the ship. Once the quadrant was far enough away for his liking, he’d yanked Peter’s pants down only as far as he needed to and put him up against the glass. So Peter’s sweating all over, inside his jacket, down his legs beneath his pants. “S’the view,” he stutters out, even though he doesn’t even have his eyes open anymore, now that Thor’s picked up a brutal pace.

Thor laughs, dark, low in his throat. It’s punctuated with ragged breaths. He’s got himself worked up, weak, no matter how cocksure he tries to sound. He stands upright again, lets go of Peter’s shoulder, unwraps his arm from his waist and takes Peter by the hips. Peter rests his head against his forearms where they’re leaning against the window. “Nice view,” Thor allows. And then, “Mine’s better.” He brings a hand down hard on Peter’s ass.

Peter calls out, then bites the leather sleeve of his jacket. Thor moans at the sound Peter makes. He always does. Thor loves to get Peter to make sounds. The louder the better. That’s why they had to start taking the quadrant out instead of fooling around in Peter’s quarters on the Benatar, or even on the once-Sakaaran-now-Asgardian _massive_ vessel, Statesman, that still houses a great deal of Thor’s people. Peter would try to be quiet. Thor realized he didn’t want to let him.

“That’s good,” Thor says. “Was starting to get jealous,” he goes on, trying to make it sound like some big joke when it isn’t.

Peter finds it in himself to quip back. “Of what, space?” he asks, snarky, bratty.

Thor laughs again, that deep rumbling laugh that only comes out when he’s fucking Peter and being smug about it. So, whenever he’s fucking Peter. “Of whatever’s distracting you from me.”

“You’re the one— _ungh_ ,” Peter stutters when Thor bends at the knees, changes his angle, pounds into him a couple times that rough way he does when Peter’s speech is too coherent for his liking, “—who put me up against the window.”

“Saying I ought to turn you around?” Thor asks, voice strong and sure again. “Put you on your back someplace so you’ve got to look at me?”

 _Fuck_. Peter wishes he was strong enough to argue. Instead, he just nods against his arms. Thor thrusts his hips hard again—his way of telling Peter that nodding isn’t good enough. “ _Fuck_ ,” Peter cries out, louder. “Yes—yeah, yeah,” he answers properly.

Then there’s that laugh again. Smug. Knowing. “Alright,” he says, and pulls out of Peter cruelly. It’s not violent. It doesn’t really hurt. It’s just devastating, and without enough warning, and leaves Peter feeling far too empty. Though Peter always feels too empty after Thor pulls out of him, no matter how slowly, no matter how much warning there is.

He pulls Peter by the hips with a strong, godlike grip. Thor has this way of making Peter feel like a ragdoll, and Peter pretends he doesn’t love it, and they both know he’s full of shit. He turns Peter around and puts his back against the window and crashes their lips together in an absolute mess of a kiss.

They didn’t always kiss. At first the fucking was quick and dirty. Then it turned slow and dirty. And sometime after that, Peter got caught up staring at Thor’s unbelievably handsome face, his perfect mouth, and he pressed his own against it, and for a fraction of a moment Peter was sure Thor would knock him right out. Instead, Thor opened up, let Peter inside, growled into Peter’s mouth. After that, they’d kiss every time they fucked, all throughout. Somewhere along the line Thor even started pulling Peter into corners and kissing him on the ship. Thor’s kisses taste sweet, but they feel _hot_ , rough, urgent. Overpowering. Peter doesn’t complain. Even when it’s risky. Peter can’t stop him.

“Floor?” Thor asks, pulling away just enough so that he can say the word against Peter’s mouth rather than into it.

“Yeah,” Peter answers, bites at Thor’s bottom lip.

Thor puts a hand into Peter’s hair, gets a good grip on it. “Gonna be rough on your back,” he warns.

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t care,” he breathes, and pushes forward to kiss Thor again. Because he really doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if his back hurts, he doesn’t care if anything hurts. He just wants Thor above him. And inside him. And all around him.

Thor pulls at Peter’s jacket too roughly and Peter shoves him away, because if Thor keeps at it, he’s liable to tear the jacket clean off, and Peter has enough sense to at least prevent that. Peter pulls his jacket off, then tugs his shirt over his head. He casts them aside as Thor hastily strips to the waist. Peter’s grateful for that. He’s always grateful for an opportunity to run his hands—or his tongue—over Thor’s muscled chest.

Thor closes in on him again and crouches down, steady, inexplicably balanced, and pulls at Peter’s pants and his underwear until they meet his boots. Then he lifts Peter effortlessly by the hips and turns him, depositing him on one of the seats and making quick work of his right boot. He pulls Peter’s pants, underwear, and boot off his leg in one go.

Then, Thor picks him up, and Peter wraps his legs around Thor’s waist without even thinking about it, pants hanging off his left calf. Thor turns so his back’s facing the window. Then he sinks to his knees, kisses Peter, lowers him onto his back with ease and composure that Peter can’t even imagine in this moment. “How’s that for a view?” he asks, voice still gravelly and dark, even if his touch has gotten momentarily gentle—one strong, greedy hand running indecisively over so much of Peter’s newly exposed skin.

Peter nods, runs his hands up Thor’s chest. “It’s good,” he tells him, the very bare minimum of the truth.

Thor smirks as he eases back and sits down, pulling his boots off. “Just good?” he asks, voice too innocent as he throws his boots on top of their discarded clothing. His cock’s already out, but he stands to rid himself of his pants, pulling them off and standing in divine, naked glory, framed perfectly by the gigantic window. By the galaxy.

“Better than good,” Peter admits, and then takes it a step further. “Fucking perfect.” Thor stands like that for a minute, biting his bottom lip, eyeing Peter hungrily, stroking his cock a little. He stares long enough that Peter finds enough nerve to be a smart ass and say, “What are you waiting for?” Thor grins, bends to pick up the bottle of lube he dropped on the floor earlier. Peter wraps his hand around his own cock, tugs at it impatiently. “Get back inside me.”

Thor falls to his knees before Peter, somewhat obediently, though Peter doesn’t try hard to convince himself of that. “C’mere,” Thor slurs, pulling Peter closer by the backs of his knees. “You ready?”

“I told you so, didn’t I?” Peter fires back, smirking back now, knowing a little attitude will get Thor to slam back into him that much sooner.

Thor bends down, braces himself with one strong forearm beside Peter’s head, kisses him fiercely, bites hard at Peter’s bottom lip. “You’re looking for trouble,” he says.

Peter’s hands wander over Thor’s chest again, up over his pecs, and Thor doesn’t even kneel upright as he clumsily uncaps the lube with one hand. They both stare down between them as Thor dribbles lube onto his cock, drops the bottle carelessly, slicks himself up and lines his cockhead up with Peter’s hole again. “Kiss me,” Peter says, before he even looks back at Thor. He doesn’t usually ask for that outright, but everything’s kind of out-of-order tonight, and Thor’s close and adoring, and Peter wants it, so he asks.

Thor moans, lips against Peter’s forehead, as he sinks inside of him again. It’s heaven, feeling Thor fill him up like this. Doesn’t matter that it’s only been about two minutes. Might even make it better. Thor kisses Peter’s temple, dips down to find Peter’s mouth. Peter finally stops watching the scene between their hips and tilts his face to meet Thor’s again, their eyes an inch apart and open in the moment before Peter latches his mouth onto Thor’s again, licks inside, hungry, desperate.

And then Thor’s buried again, and Peter wraps his arms around Thor’s neck, and Thor starts thrusting into him, picking up his earlier pace quickly. “God,” Thor mutters against Peter’s mouth, “you feel good. You always feel so good.”

Peter’s eyes leak at the corners the way they always do. The slatted, iron floor of the ship is hard on his back. He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t want Thor to stop. Just holds tight, wraps his legs around Thor’s waist again. “Jesus,” Peter says, worries he’ll say too much if he says anything else. He hisses as Thor’s thrusts move him over the floor, back pressing too hard against the unforgiving floor.

“You alright?” Thor asks, mouth beside Peter’s ear now. He doesn’t stop, but he asks.

“Uh-huh,” Peter half-lies, wincing.

Thor sucks at Peter’s earlobe, then says, “You aren’t, are you?”

“I’m—” Peter starts, but Thor interrupts him, and interrupts his own rhythm.

“C’mere,” he says again, and pulls Peter up into his lap, and before Peter has time to think, Thor’s standing again, one hand behind Peter’s neck, the other arm wrapped around his back and gripping him tight, pulling Peter up and down on his cock.

It’s not exactly new, this feeling of being picked up and used like he weighs nothing at all, but it never gets old. He can never quite believe it. His cock leaks between them and Thor’s hand on the back of his neck pulls him close into another kiss. “Fuck,” Peter swears into Thor’s mouth.

Thor stops kissing him, says, “You like that?”

Peter nods, drops his head to Thor’s shoulder, wraps his arms tighter around Thor’s neck. “Uh—uh-huh,” he chokes out, staggered as he bounces against Thor’s hips.

“You gonna come for me?” Thor asks, sounding like he’s getting close himself.

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” Peter whines out, louder this time, leans back enough to look into Thor’s face, meet his mismatched eyes. “Gotta…” he trails off, weaving a hand between their chests and finding his cock again.

Thor nods. “Go ahead,” he says, and kisses Peter again, and pulls Peter down onto his cock harder than before while Peter starts stroking himself as vehemently as he can manage while being handled, being thrown up and down.

Peter sobs, breaking the kiss, letting his head roll back, and Thor doesn’t miss a beat, just sucks at Peter’s exposed neck. “You close?” Peter breathes out, too soft, soft enough he has to repeat himself. “You close? You gonna come soon?” Thor hums out an affirmation against Peter’s throat. “Come with me, okay? Try and— _oh_ ,” Thor bites at Peter’s collarbone, growls, it’s all so much, “try and come with me—wanna feel it.”

“Okay,” Thor says, and then, “kiss me again,” and maybe he’s just saying it because Peter said it before. Peter doesn’t care. He tries not to think about it. He just kisses Thor again, opens his mouth, savors Thor’s taste, hums and sucks and bites at him.

As he jerks off faster his lips falter, the kiss pauses and stutters and their teeth click. “Oh, I’m close, I’m real close,” he tells Thor in one shaky breath. And then, in time with the bucking of Thor’s hips, he’s chanting, “ _Come-on, come-on, come-on_.”

“Okay,” Thor says again, breathy, ragged, coming undone. He’s never so smug when he’s close like this. Peter loves this part. Peter loves all of it, every minute of it, but this part he _really_ loves, when Thor’s desperate and clutching, and when, if Peter can manage to open his eyes to see it, Thor’s brow knits and his eyes go soft and weak and pained and he makes these noises like Peter’s going to just _kill him_. “Oh,” Thor says, Thor _whimpers_. “Oh, _Peter_.”

And that. Peter _loves_ that. “Say it again,” Peter begs, letting his forehead fall against Thor’s shoulder. “Oh, _fuck_ , I’m gonna come, say it again.”

“Peter,” Thor says, quick, as his back hunches and he takes a step towards the window and puts the hand that was on Peter’s neck out to splay against the glass, handling all of Peter’s weight now with one strong forearm. It doesn’t slow him down. He barely strains at all. He’s fucking up into Peter with his hips and he’s pulling Peter down onto his cock and he’s saying it again. And again. “ _Peter_ , Peter, Peter…” faster and faster with each push of his hips.

Peter sobs as he hears his name on Thor’s lips, as he feels Thor’s rhythm start to stutter. He wants to hold out, thinks he can, _knows_ he can. “Come on,” he begs again, and it’s too loud, too desperate against Thor’s ear, “oh, come on, come on.” He feels Thor nod. “Tell me, I’m so close, I’m right there.”

Thor nods again, “Go on,” he says, then groans low in his throat, hips jerking, “let go, I’m coming.” And then the hand that was on the window is on Peter’s jaw instead, pulling it roughly so Thor can reach his mouth, so Thor can drive his tongue inside as he fills him with come. And Peter lets go, heart racing, body shuddering as his cock spurts between them. He feels his come on his chest, even up on his neck, and Thor’s still fucking up into him at a broken, lazy pace.

Peter tugs himself through his orgasm, rides it out, sucks on Thor’s bottom lip as Thor spills inside him, as Thor makes these beautiful, broken, relenting sounds. “Fuck,” Peter says, starting to catch his breath. “Fuck, that was incredible.”

Thor nods, kisses Peter again. “It always is,” Thor says against his lips, and backs away from the window. He gets to his knees and puts Peter gently on his back before pulling out of him. “It always is,” he says again, “with you.”

Peter feels empty without Thor’s cock, but it helps to hear Thor talk so sweetly, helps to feel Thor’s come slowly leaking out of him. Helps to feel Thor’s lips press soft against his jaw, down his neck, over his collarbone. Helps to feel Thor’s fingers find his own.

And then Thor’s lying beside him, both of them looking out into the endless expanse of stars. “It is a sight,” Thor concedes, still breathing heavily. He stretches an arm back and around Peter. Peter lifts his head so he can rest it in that perfect crook between Thor’s shoulder and his chest.

“It is,” Peter agrees, even as his eyes droop closed, Thor’s fingertips trailing along his arm.


End file.
